A million thanks to CrowKrowQrow who has been an invaluable sounding board for ironborn politics and book knowledge. You won't get to see his improvements for awhile (23k word buffer between where I'm writing and where I post) but trust me when I say you'll all be grateful to him.
The next morning, Sansa got to sit around her first war room council. Some of the men looked askance at her presence, but Theon pulled out her chair and she sat. Even Robb raised an eyebrow, but he was still too happy to have her back to protest.
"The Crag," Lord Umber said, stabbing his finger at a map. "It's the next logical spot to hit and keep the Lannisters running!"
"But there's prisoners at Harrenhal," Lord Karstark said, with a glance at Robb. "Two hundred good men, including my son, waiting for us to rescue them, and with few guards, at that."
"The Lannisters will kill their prisoners before they let us have them back," Theon replied. A moment too late, he realized the implications, turning pale as a sheet. Karstark turned to him in fury.
Robb's fist slammed onto the table, his face hidden as he stared down at it. "Out."
Theon stood. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, I didn't–"
"EVERYONE, OUT!"
It had been a short meeting, after all. Slowly, the Lords stood, making slight bows as they left. Sansa remained sitting. She gripped Theon's hand where he stood, holding him rooted.
"You think they'll kill them all," Robb said flatly, still not looking up from the table.
"I'm sorry, Robb, I didn't–" Theon started.
"Yes," Sansa replied. "They'll kill the common soldiers. They won't be stupid enough to kill Arya."
Robb looked up at that.
"You still have Jaime," Sansa reminded him. Abruptly, she paused. "Don't you?"
"Yes." A humorless snort left him. "Something someone may have mentioned in a note my mother did not find amusing."
Sansa looked confused. Theon could only grin.
"A little birdie told me it was a possibility," Theon said, dropping back into his seat. "Didn't want your mother ruining my surprise gift of Sansa by trying to buy it with the Kingslayer."
Robb covered his face with his hands. "And now she wants to trade him for Arya. I'm doomed to have the same useless arguments every day until one of us dies."
"What do you want to trade him for, Robb?" Sansa asked. Jaime was a valuable prisoner, absolutely. But, eventually, he would escape and cause problems. No prisoner was worth sowing dissent among the northern lords – especially not if they could trade him now and gain some benefit while avoiding disaster.
Robb sat, looking flummoxed.
"Or are you hoping to wait till the end of the war, when you can execute him?" she continued.
"I don't know," Robb said, and he sounded so overwhelmed that Sansa wanted to wrap her arms around her brother until all his problems melted away. "I've made a mess of everything but the battles. The ironborn have attacked the North. Even if I wanted to go home, to defend my people, Balon Greyjoy holds Moat Cailin." He slammed his fist on the table again. "I can't even get to the North to defend it."
Abruptly, Sansa realized that without Talisa, Robb had been stripped of his main comfort. Here he was – barely more than a boy, leading a war, and all alone.
"You could trade the Kingslayer for Harrenhal," Theon offered. Robb looked at him, shocked, but Theon continued on. "And all the prisoners inside it. That's 200 men, Karstark said. That's not trading him for one little girl, but she'd be one of the ones you get back. And Karstark would get his son back, and others of your bannermen, so they wouldn't be likely to string you up by your feet."
"Tywin wouldn't take it," Robb scoffed.
"He might," Sansa said. They turned to look at her. "Tywin would do anything for Jaime. Especially if he didn't see it as losing anything since they were going to abandon the castle when you approached, anyway."
Robb froze. "And how do you know this?"
"I was in King's Landing," Sansa covered quickly. "Joffrey was very fond of bragging, something in which I encouraged him."
"And why do you keep calling the Kingslayer 'Jaime?'" Robb wrinkled his nose. "It sounds so… familiar."
Sansa bit her lip. The reason was because he was Brienne's closest friend, her sworn sword's lover, and because she proudly called 'friend' any man who fought the dead at Winterfell. Except, Jaime and Brienne had never met outside of his cage, Jaime still had both hands, and the Wall had not yet fallen. He was only the man who had crippled her brother. Sansa vowed to be more careful.
"She's been around no one but the Lannisters for two years, Robb," Theon said, making the same defense that she'd just made sound fresh and convincing. "What do you think they call their uncle? 'Kingslayer?'"
"I think they call him 'Father,'" Robb said. Abruptly, all three burst out laughing. It felt good to laugh like a child again, surrounded by her family, sharing a brief moment of childishness with all of them.
But all too soon, Robb sobered. He stood, walking to the side of the tent, his arms crossed behind his back. "I'll consider Harrenhal. It's not a bad offer, Theon." He turned to Sansa, ruffling her hair. "But when did you get so grown up?"
"The day I left for King's Landing." She'd meant it literally. With a sad nod at her metaphor, Robb left without another word.
. . .
Life at camp soon consisted of little but war meetings. Theon leaned back in his chair, wishing he could have been back on the road with Sansa. It had been nice, just the two of them, fending for themselves. Now that the danger was gone, and the hunger, and the cold, it all seemed like it had been a pleasant little trip.
Sansa sat across the table from him, next to her mother, and he couldn't keep his eyes from drifting to her. Even just sitting in the tent, saying nothing as she soaked in the various positions and battle strategies, the room already felt less dreary. Looking around, Theon realized he wasn't the only lord sitting straighter, with the others sporting better trimmed beards and combed hair. Theon had to grin. She had that effect on people.
"The Tullys are holding Riverrun with five thousand men," Robb said, smacking the carved fish token onto the map. "They won't hold for long, but the rest of their banners are gathering, and hopefully they can lure Tywin west."
"Tywin's got twenty thousand men spread across the Riverlands and Westerlands," Lord Bolton added, gesturing to the lion tokens. "We have them on the run, but they'll fall back to Casterly Rock."
"And we've barely got twenty thousand to match his," Lord Karstark said. "Not including the castle. Any word from the Vale, Lady Stark?"
Catelyn shook her head. "None. My sister has decided the world outside is too dangerous. She is going to sit out the war."
Groans echoed around the table.
"We need more men," Lord Umber added.
"We need alliances," Rob agreed.
"Good thing Walder Frey and his 5,000 are on our side," Karstark said with a laugh. Robb grimaced and Theon couldn't help feeling for the man.
"Well," Umber looked suddenly uncomfortable, as the eyes of the room fell on him. "We have her, don't we?" He pointed to Sansa. As Robb turned murderous eyes on Umber, he quickly added, "Begging Your Grace's pardon. I know you just got your sister back, and all."
"That is quite enough," Catelyn said, glaring down the table at each man in turn. She skipped Theon, for which he was grateful. "I have indeed just gotten my daughter back, and from a failed betrothal, must I remind you?"
"Your sentiment does you credit," Bolton said. "But if it means the difference between independence for the North or the deaths of your family and all who sit here, it might be wise to consider it."
Theon couldn't have torn his eyes off Sansa for all the gold in Casterly Rock. Her quiet, happy demeanor had vanished. In its place sat a pale fear, growing at each word spoken. She stared down at her locked hands in front of her, not even blinking.
"Aye," Karstark added. "The Dornish aren't so bad, are they, milady? They don't hit little girls, down there."
"Except if the little girls are holding a spear," another lord added.
"At the other end of the continent?" Catelyn said, aghast. "They couldn't even get here in time, let alone care about a kingdom farther removed from them than Essos!"
"Still," Umber nodded. "10,000 Dornish spears would be awfully handy and they've no love for the Lannisters."
"Odd, then," Sansa finally spoke. The whole tent dropped into silence to listen. "That they've just betrothed themselves to Myrcella Baratheon."
"Sansa," Robb said, frowning. He had not ventured his opinion yet, not directly, and the room hung in the balance. "I know you just got back, but an alliance sealed by you could make a world of difference in the war."
"I know," Sansa said.
Theon gripped the arms of his chair, desperate to strangle something. He'd just gotten her back, damn them all! If they thought he'd go down to Dorne to rescue her next time, they were out of their bloody minds! At least Sansa had made her own feelings on the matter clear. I'm not marrying any of them! She had said, with enough heat to cook an omelet. He could relax safely in that.
"And I'll do my duty for the sake of an alliance," she continued. Around him, every lord was breathing sighs of relief, but Theon couldn't breathe, couldn't see– "IF!" At that one word from her, she drew every eye like a lodestone. Sansa smiled her most unassuming smile, a rose spreading petals to hide her thorns. "If a suitable match can be found."
"Dorne," Karstark repeated, but Sansa shook her head.
"Already allied to the Lannisters and too far, as my mother said," Sansa replied.
"Robin Arryn, of the Vale," Bolton suggested, but again Sansa shook her head.
"They already have a bond of family that they've chosen to ignore. Why should cowardice be rewarded with a second bond, one they'd likely ignore a second time?"
"The Tyrells!" someone else suggested.
Sansa paused, looking as if the notion had caught her off-guard. "I have reason to believe the Tyrells are not available," she hesitantly replied.
"Loras Tyrell is available," Bolton smiled humorlessly. "What with Renly dead."
"Still," Sansa protested, "They have no interest in the North–"
"I'd call forty thousand marching men suitable," Umber said to Karstark.
"Higher than that," Karstark replied. "With the Redwyne fleet, to boot."
Umber whistled. "That could win the war, it could."
"Bloody listen to the girl you're bartering away!" Theon yelled. The room paused, turning to him in confusion. "She has spies in King's Landing. Befriended their Spymaster, if I'm not mistaken." Sansa had said no such thing, but sneaking regular letters to him from the heart of Lannister power spoke to something of the sort. Adding her own information to the mix would make the claim hard to disprove.
The lords all turned to her. "Is this true, Sansa?" Robb asked.
With a blush, Sansa nodded. "I would discuss further in private, Your Grace, but I do not believe the Tyrells to be an option."
Robb nodded acquiescence. With that, the discussion started up again.
"Surely some bannerman of the Baratheon's?"
"The Redwynes, themselves!"
"House Egan, of the Vale?"
Lady Catelyn stood, drawing the entire room to attention. "I can't believe what I'm hearing! This is disgraceful, all of you! Marrying my daughter, the prize of the north, to House Egan, and their 1,000 men? It wouldn't be worth the deserters we'd lose, for rightly seeing our cause as a lost one!"
"If we're truly that desperate," Sansa said. "You could always force the Kingslayer to marry me. Perhaps his father will give us the troops we need."
Uncomfortable laughter echoed around the tent. Theon didn't appreciate her humor. They would if they could, he thought viciously. The leather in his glove creaked as he clenched his fist.
With Catelyn's upbraiding, the conversation in the room drifted among various topics though never straying far from Sansa. The idea of pinning their salvation on her instead of fighting for it themselves had all these military men bloody overjoyed. Umber suggested a house, forgetting that they were all dead, and Theon lost it.
"The Iron Islands," Theon whispered. No one heard, still caught up in offering shithole lords with ten men to their names. "THE IRON ISLANDS!"
Every lord in the tent fell silent, looking at Theon. Even Sansa pinned him with her gaze. He dared not look her way, instead fixing on a spot just over Karstark's head.
Umber broke the silence with a snort. Quickly, it grew into a full, belly-shaking laugh. "You're not serious, boy?"
Theon jumped to his feet. Indignation coursed through his veins, his hands shaking as he clenched them. "Of course I'm bloody serious. I—"
Umber cut him off with another laugh. Leaning back in his chair, he slapped his chest as he roared with laughter. "You'd offer a princess to those rebellious, barnacle-ridden, pustules? They aren't worth—"
"Lord Umber," Catelyn snapped. "Lord Greyjoy is a ward of my house. You will give him your respect."
"And my sworn brother," Robb added, leveling Umber with all of his kingly gaze.
Umber's laughter ceased. Looking between Catelyn and Robb, he could tell when he wasn't wanted. "Indeed he is, Lady Stark, Your Grace. Though it is past my bedtime if we're going to be telling tales fit for children's ears." With a stiff bow, he left the tent.
Theon still stood, unsure if sitting down would be taken as a sign of weakness. With additional bows and murmurings of farewell, the other lords left the tent. Theon remained standing while only Robb, Catelyn, and Sansa remained.
Sansa hadn't taken her eyes off of Theon while Robb hadn't once looked his way.
"I'll need to talk to you about the Tyrells, Sansa," Robb said, shuffling his maps away into their cases. "Whatever you know about them, I need to know it. Even just stealing the Redwyne fleet out from under them would be a boon—"
Without another word, Theon stalked from the tent.
He could hear feet running after him and sped up to outpace them. Perhaps he could get to his horse, could go for a ride to clear his head of so much humiliation. Of course the 'noble Starks' would defend him to outsiders, but gods forbid they actually consider his proposal!
"Theon!" Sansa called.
Gods, not her. Anyone but her.
"Theon, wait!"
Flinging himself onto the back of his horse, he galloped off into the night.
. . .
Sansa flung open the curtain of the tent, storming back to Robb and looming over him where he sat. "You made Theon leave," she growled.
"Good," Robb said, never looking up from writing a letter. He dipped his quill in the ink before continuing. "I'd been worried that he'd gotten overly familiar."
"Overly familiar?" Sansa said, feeling her blinding rage growing. She hadn't been this angry since – yelling at her brothers, so many years ago. Apparently their stubbornness brought it out in her. "He saved my life, Robb. He saved me from getting raped."
Robb flinched at that. Sansa felt a shred of remorse for hurting him but not enough to stop. "Joffrey stripped me in the middle of the throne room and beat me. The Lannisters were going to marry me to the Imp. But that didn't happen because Theon didn't let it happen! He killed for me. More than once, against bad odds, without hesitation. He risked his life to protect me and he'd do it again in a heartbeat."
"And I'm very grateful," Robb said.
Sansa snarled down at him. "If any other man had done what he had, you'd have gifted him a kingdom of a boon."
Finally putting down his quill, Robb looked up at her. "Aye. If he'd been a follower of the Seven, I would have knighted him. But no boon would stretch to the hand of my sister. You know that, Sansa."
Her anger simmered enough only for her to sit. "Fine. You want to know about the Tyrells? I'll tell you all about the Tyrells and how they'll lose us this war."
Robb folded his hands atop the parchment, watching his sister intently.
"Baelish was at Renly's camp when Mother went there, yes?" she asked.
Robb nodded. "He gave us back Father's bones."
Sansa sucked in a breath. It was so easy to forget the cruelty that had started this, the one swing of the sword that had set everything in motion.
She took a moment to steady herself. "Baelish was there negotiating with the Tyrells for the Lannisters," she said. "The Tyrells will only sell their army for a crown on Margaery's head. And that's what Baelish offered them: Joffrey."
Robb's frown deepened. "I see. This is why you knew you wouldn't be a big enough prize."
Sansa nodded. "And I didn't want the others to know until you decided how much to tell them. Stannis will attack King's Landing through Blackwater Bay. The Lannisters will barely be able to hold him off – until Tywin comes sweeping in with the Tyrells behind him. They'll destroy Stannis. With the Tyrells, the Lannisters will become stronger than ever."
Robb's frown shifted down to his maps, studying them once again. "That's conjecture. You can't know any of that for sure."
Sansa gritted her teeth. If Theon were here, he could talk sense to Robb–! She sighed. "It's the logical course," she explained. "Whomever the Tyrells side with will win and they won't side with Stannis, not to mention he's already married."
"What about offering the Tyrells a Queen in the North?" Robb mused.
Dread curdled in her stomach. "You're betrothed."
Robb winked at her. "So is Joffrey. To you, last I heard."
Sansa shook her head. "Margaery likes flirting and flowers and scheming. She would hate the North, with its cold climate and harsh, direct people."
Nothing good could come of tying Robb to Margaery. She was a kind person but she was ambitious – and she'd drag the North into it with her.
If Robb married Margaery, she'd have him win the Iron Throne – or die trying. Sansa knew which one her money was on.
But even after all her discouragements, Robb smiled up at her. "I'll send Mother to talk to the Tyrells, then. Loras Tyrell wouldn't be so bad, would he? Not if I'm married to his sister?"
Closing her eyes, Sansa took till the count of five. When he wanted to, Robb could be as stubborn as their father. "Loras is gay." While her brother blinked stupidly at her, Sansa continued. "You need to apologize to Theon, Robb."
"Apologize?" Robb's face twisted in distaste. "Whatever for?"
Sansa stood. "For refusing my only sensible match."
"Sansa," Robb drew out her name, rebuking her in his most patronizing tone. "I know he rescued you and you think he's some sort of hero, but the Iron Islands are not a suitable match. They're barren little chunks of rock where resentful little people are the only ones stubborn enough to grow. If not Loras Tyrell, we'll find you someone else in time."
"Someone brave and gentle and strong?" Sansa asked.
Robb frowned. "What?"
"That's what Father promised me, once. But nevermind. If virtues don't interest you, how about this." She leaned on the table for emphasis. "The Iron Fleet."
Finally, Robb had had enough. He lurched to his feet in anger. "And Theon doesn't control them! He has one sword to his name, and that because Father gave it to him! I tasked him with going to Balon Greyjoy, with offering an alliance so tempting only a fool would refuse. Instead, Theon ran away. He didn't even have the guts to tell me to my face, because he knew I'd refuse! Because he knows as well as I, that one girl, no matter how much I love her, is not worth losing the war! And now his father's fleet has been spotted sailing NORTH!"
Still fuming, Robb's chest heaved as he struggled to rein in his anger. "I'm grateful to have you back, Sansa. But not with a thousand tears could you convince me to marry you to the man who fled from his own family, lost us the Iron Fleet, and wooed my sister without my consent. No, Sansa. You will have no apology from me."
She didn't know what to say. "Robb," she started, reaching a hand toward him.
Robb turned away. Leaning over the table, he refused to meet her gaze. "Leave me be. I've a war to plan."